Setting Things Straight
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: "Why do you think people hate each other so much?" "Eventually, people just stop being good and become bad." "Which one are we, Dipper?"/Oh, how they sparkled. Rated for future violence and language.


Setting Things Straight

Summary: "Why do you think people hate each other so much?" "Eventually, people just stop being good and become bad." "Which one are we, Dipper?"/Oh, how they sparkled.

English Tragedy/Family Rated: T Chapters: Words: Dipper P. & Mabel P.

_Once Upon a Time, in a faraway land, there lived a beautiful prince and princess in a magical castle with- - _

**Or, Once Upon a Time, in a rusty Oregon town, there lived a curious boy and his cheerful sister, and their Happily Ever After was a long time coming.**

Part One:

Thorns

She never really enjoyed the rain.

Sure, it was a credible excuse to parade around in her pig Wellington boots and meticulously sequined oilskin, but otherwise, the process never enlightened Mabel as it did her brother. Rain _fascinated _him. He risked potential colds to venture into the forest (bundled up only because she demanded it) and explore the landscape in the hope of discovering another one of his whatchamacallits. Sure, those were interesting, but rain was not.

Her life was eternally altered on a gloomy Saturday, which had dawned gray and bleak, setting the mood for the proceeding day. At breakfast, while her great-uncle complained about the significant deficiency of suckers as of late and her brother absently questioned his cereal bowl which scent Wendy was particularly fond of, Mabel glared at the sky pressing against the stained-glass window. She challenged it: are you gonna rain? Go on, I dare you. Ruin my day.

As if to spite her, the impossibly thick blanket of clouds overhead ruptured and began to weep, spilling slanting columns that drummed like a pulse against the tin roof. Droplets cascaded down the glass of her bedroom window; Mabel pretended it was a race and, after choosing two opponents, watched them scurry to the sill. It was a trivial pursuit, but Mabel was entertained and eagerly hosted race after race, occasionally interjecting with the sort of commentary she heard grown men shouting whenever her father watched football games. Waddles joined her, squealing replies to her observations with staggering eloquence.

"Mabes, are you and Waddles gonna watch it rain all day?" The brunette glanced over her shoulder and flashed Dipper a silver-clad grin, which he returned instantly. "Having a Raindrop Race?"

"Maybe," she sang, tapping a lavender fingernail against the chilly pane. "Wanna watch? You can make a commentary or even place bets, but watch out: Waddles has got mad gambling skills, don't ya?" Mabel planted an affectionate kiss on her pet's pert little snout, rewarded with an equally tender nuzzle to the shoulder. Dipper could only smile at this exchange: his sister treated her beloved pig like a human companion capable of intelligence and philosophical thoughts. Of course, Waddles _did _possess the uncanny ability to dial the three-digit emergency number into the downstairs phone with his fore hoof…

"I'll keep my money, if that's okay." With a contented sigh, he folded himself onto the window seat, which was in desperate need of a reupholstering. The cushions sagged pathetically beneath their combined weight. "Do you think bat people fly in the rain? Would their wings get wet?"

Mabel pressed her strawberry lips together until they formed a tense line that was oddly unsettling on her naturally radiant visage. She had hoped Dipper wouldn't cloud the waters with his ever-so-slightly paranoid conspiracy theories (or, even worse, odes about the copper-haired Wendy). If she had to endure a storm, she at least desired to have her brother by her side. "I dunno," she answered vaguely, investing her attention into the athletics once again.

Dipper had a tendency to become so wrapped up in his own plans that he wouldn't have noticed if his thumb had been severed from his hand, but he always perceived changes in his sister. Not only were her emotions about as difficult to comprehend as a picture book, they were twins, close twins. "Sorry, I was reading about them earlier. I don't think I'll go out today, it's coming down like crazy. Stan said the lightning was making the TV flicker." The corners of her mouth returned to their near-perpetual upright position.

"The TV always flickers. Grunkle Stan's just cranky 'cause he knows no one will come out to the Mystery Shack in the rain."

"Yeah, it's not exactly something to risk driving off the road for. 'Ooh, a papier-mâché tentacle! Honey, quick, get a picture of this!'" Dipper exclaimed in his best redneck accent, which, unfortunately (or fortunately, it was difficult to decide) was nearly identical to those possessed by several local citizens. Mabel descended into a giggling fit that gripped her for several minutes. Even Waddles, who was not such a fan of Dipper, squealed as if he had understood.

"Y-You almost sounded like Gideon!" she managed between gasps, which caused his laughter to taper off considerably. The passage of time had not lessened the pain of the memory of that manipulative psycho. Still, Dipper managed a smile, for his sister's sake, and glanced back at the particularly drab scenery. "But I know you think there's really stuff out there, like real tentacles that aren't made out of newspapers."

"Well, yeah. I mean, we've seen it, haven't we? Like the gnomes and the Trickster. This place is crawling with it." The breath he inhaled shuddered in his throat and remained there far longer than expected.

"The people here are cooler, though. They're so much more interesting than everyone in California. Like Candy and Grenda and Wendy and Soos and Orion and Summer!" Mabel absently began to plait a chocolate curl that had escaped the spikes of her daffodil headband, her cheeks glowing. "And I guess there may be some kinda crazy people, but they aren't all bad, really."

Dipper could have debated that assertion for several hours, but he didn't want to thrust Mabel's joy into jeopardy again, so he agreed with a nod of his head. The rain cascaded down the structure's corroded gutters, gushing across the yard like a river bursting from the confines of a dam. He briefly wondered what gnomes did during particularly nasty downpours such as these and then decided they sought shelter in the trees. Mabel continued to prattle on about her naïve, yet oddly philosophical, perspective on the citizens populating their summer home. Adapted to her nonsensical ramblings, he nodded appropriately and occasionally murmured a "hmm" or "oh, yeah?"

"… it's really dumb how people treat each other sometimes, though. Ya know, like Pacifica puts people down for no reason and how Robbie's mean to you sometimes. And it's really stupid, not funny stupid, but… _stupid. _Why do you think people hate each other so much?" She tilted her head to regard her brother with wide, inquisitive eyes that demanded an answer he simply did not possess.

But Dipper refused to leave Mabel, pure, sweet Mabel, to ponder a question of such intensity on her own and hastily contrived a semblance of a response. "Eventually, people just stop being good and become bad," he murmured with a shrug, hoping she would accept it as the truth. Instead, her brow furrowed in concern. Fingers wrenched into the yarn of her emerald turtle sweater.

"Then, which one are we, Dipper?" she implored desperately, feeling cold in spite of her woolen top and Waddles emanating heat against her shins.

The boy met his sister's eyes, opened his mouth, and slowly, deliberately, slid off of the window seat. He shuffled the length of the room, his gait nearly catatonic and his fists jammed into the pockets of his vest, and Mabel watched, both disappointed and frightened, as he grabbed his black rubbers and "Three" before vanishing.

"We're good," she whispered into her pig's adorably floppy ear as she cuddled with him and dried her tears on his satin coat. "We're totally good, Waddles. We're good, Waddles."

The rain did not remit.

::::::

"Hey, dude. Where ya going?"

As Dipper zipped his navy sweatshirt (Mabel had bedazzled his only oilskin), he glanced at the ridiculously gangly redhead behind the showcase arena's counter. She had her pitted cell phone curled in one hand, its screen casting an eerie glow across her fair, freckled visage. The fluorescence rendered her twinkle-infused eyes too bright, like neon haloes flashing in the center of her silhouetted face. "Out. Just looking for stuff. I dunno…" Despite the room's chill (the heater had resigned from its position and Stan concluded it was not a necessity), his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet.

"Really? It's kinda freakin' storming. The only reason I'm here is it started raining the second I walked into this joint." She exhaled with customary "I-really-wish-I-weren't-here-right-now" frustration, stirring the crimson tresses framing her heart-shaped face. "I hate it when it rains. It just- - it just _blows."_

"You should talk to Mabel, then. She gets bored when it rains and asks me weird questions," Dipper murmured, outfitting the bronze-plated tome under his arm. He had no intention of leaving though; at least, not until he entirely collapsed under the pressure accompanying communication with Wendy. "Like, she just asked me why people hate each other."

"What was your answer?" The twelve-year-old, once again, was surprised by how determined everyone was to receive a solution. He buried the rubber toe of his boot into the termite-festooned floor, silently panicking as to whether or not he should deliver the same reply he offered his sister. His mind was about as functional as the heater though, so he rewound and replayed himself.

"Just that after awhile people stop being good and become bad," he mumbled irritably. It was a ridiculous, pandering thing to say, but it must have piqued Wendy's curiosity, because she placed the slim device on the countertop and quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't really know what to say to her. I don't even know what it was supposed to mean. Like I said, it was a weird question, so I gave her a weird answer."

"I wouldn't call it weird," the teenager insisted. Honestly, once she comprehended it, Wendy discovered a sinisterly foreboding undertone to the otherwise simple observation. "It's right… ya know, in a way. But you really don't think people can stay good?"

The rosy glow that had touched his visage intensified into a vivid emergency light. A hand gripped the bill of his cap, obscuring the abrupt transformation in complexion. "I guess. I-I don't know. It was all dumb." Before he could further bury himself in idiotic philosophies, Dipper bid her farewell with a noncommittal wave and, hissing a series of obscenities under his breath, jogged out into the pouring rain.

::::::

Across town, a figure watched the rain fall from his bedroom window, a satisfied grin touching the corner of his lips. He had always enjoyed the rain.

::::::

After she had regained her composure, Mabel escorted Waddles downstairs so they could both engage in a spot of lunch. She had almost entirely forgotten the incident with Dipper and was prepared to tackle the remainder of the day with her dazzling beam and bright eyes. No nature tantrum or moral jeopardy could dim Mabel's mood.

"Grunkle Stan, did you get pig feed at the store yesterday?" the brunette hollered the moment the soles of her Mary Janes connected with the swollen floorboards. Since he was not profiting today, Mabel supposed he was indulging in ice cream and boring, black-and-white, old lady movies, and she was not willing to witness that pitiful scene just to ask a rhetorical question (the answer was "no", of course).

"I'm not made of money, kid! Feed the little monster some cereal and grass if ya have to!" Mabel rolled her eyes amiably and skipped into the kitchen, which was currently about as well stocked as a pauper's pantry. She managed to scavenge a few slices of bread that were only a day old, a jar with peanut butter caked insides, and two shriveled apples for Waddles. He devoured them eagerly, squealed expectantly, and was rewarded with a dish of milk.

"Do you think Dipper will want something to eat?" the girl wondered aloud, greeted only by the sound of her pet lapping up his lunch. "I don't know how long he'll be out there, Waddles. Sometimes, he's out there _forever _and comes back soaking wet and he's just a big idiot. I mean, who goes out in the woods when it's raining? That's stupid, right?"

Waddles regarded her with his shoe button eyes, blinked once, and trotted into the corner of the chilly room. He proceeded to settle onto his stomach, stretch his forelegs out, and rest his head on them like an exhausted watchdogs. Within seconds, the plump creature was snoring. Mabel viewed this scene from the table, her fragile fingers coiled around the handle of a dishwater-dulled knife. She just couldn't help it. Waddles was just so _adorable. _With an inelegant snort, she began to laugh, or rather, descend into hysterics. As her petite form shuddered rhythmically with gasps, she lifted both hands to her chest to prevent herself from fissuring apart. Unfortunately, Mabel forgot the cutlery clutched in her left palm, and her delight was abruptly terminated by the impact of the blade into her delicate flesh.

_Ow._

The wound itself was not particularly deep or nasty, but it had shocked her and the day had already been so miserable… Mabel dropped the knife and, after collapsing against the lower cabinets, sobbed.

After a few moments of her wails, Stan lumbered into the kitchen in a wife beater possibly older than he was and chocolate chips inexplicably tangled in his overabundance of graying body hair. Before he could wearily complain about the commotion, he ascertained the fine needles of crimson trekking down his great-niece's pale hands. "Geez, kid… how'd you get cut?"

Instead of replying, Mabel only wept with greater intensity, her shoulders trembling. Waddles, detecting his owner's distress, cantered to her defense, squatting at her side and squealing in displeasure up at Stan. He nudged the little beast aside with a grunt so he could reach Mabel and pull the petite girl back to her feet. "Okay, okay, theatrics over, kid. Let's see what the damage is."

Gasping in place of breathing, she removed her hands from the slash to provide Stan with a decent glimpse. He examined it momentarily, decided it would not require hospitalization or any funds from the insurance he did not possess. "Okay, I think you'll live. Wait there, and I'll get you a Band-Aid. You'll be okay."

Allayed, Mabel sniffled and watched her great-uncle lumber out of the room. No matter how miserly and heartless he appeared, she had seen his heart, and was aware of a certain _goodness _in him. She loved him, just as she loved everyone who was deserving of her affection. Her sobs tapered off into watery hiccups; thunder rattled in the distance. The world returned to her in shards that her mind quickly glued back together like the picture frame she accidentally split when she was seven and was painstakingly pasted back together by Dipper so she wouldn't be punished. For a reason unknown, that memory soothed her, reminded her of joy. A smile, albeit slightly hesitant, returned to her lips.

"All right, no need for stitches. This will take two seconds." Stan returned, equipped with two wrapped bandages and an expired bottle of Bactine. The lack of moisture in her shimmering eyes relieved him. Stanford Pines could not cope with hysterical children. "This will probably sting a lot. Just close your eyes and hold onto your swine."

Mabel clutched Waddles's pudgy frame against her stomach, body terse in preparation for the nip of medicine against her vulnerable flesh. As predicted by Stan, it _did _sting a lot and she did release a strangled whine of discomfort, but the image of Dipper angled over that stupid picture frame was etched into her eyelids, so she did not shed another tear. Within seconds, the pain abated and she released a wriggling Waddles. "Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

"Hey, couldn't have ya bleeding everywhere, could I? You want some lunch, kid?"

::::::

After lunch (a surprisingly fun affair, involving dry peanut butter sandwiches and imitations of Gravity Falls's many citizens), Mabel climbed back up to the attic. She had no plans for the afternoon: Dipper had yet to return (stupid!) and Stan hadn't mentioned any odd jobs for her to complete around the Shack. Perhaps she'd knit herself another sweater or catch up on the latest season of "Why You Ackin' So Cray-Cray?" Coco LaBeaux was supposed to confront the owners of a crooked beauty salon. While berating girls for staying with abusive boys. And handing out modeling tips.

Before she could carry out any of these activities though, her cell phone began to serenade her with a static-riddled rendition of "Don't Stop Unbelieving". Mabel flipped the device open and was greeted with a text message from Candy.

**the skating rink is having free rental night can you come with grenda and I to skate at six pop star**

Mabel couldn't help but giggle at the nickname completing her message (the girls had taken to it after her Party Crown battle). Skating! That was at least her… eighth favorite thing! Behind stickers, of course. She completely forgot the decidedly tragic opening to her day and, beaming like she had just been gifted with religion, texted Candy back.

**yes! Can't wait this is gonna be awesome love u =D**

The brunette skipped back down the stairwell to tell Grunkle Stan where she would be at six o'clock and watch television until Dipper returned. She could not wait to rub her plans in his face.

::::::

He set down the silver hairbrush and, after admiring his meticulously styled mane, swiped the last of his hamster's remains into a wastebasket.

Today was going to be a good day.

**a/n: **Ha, yeah… this. Sorry there hasn't been any new additions to "A Day In The Life", my inspiration kind of collapsed under the weight of the hiatus. Expect some new installments as the episodes start coming. Anyway, this little monster is probably going to be my next new project. It's essentially a collaboration with ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction. He gave me the outline and I wrote him the first chapter. This may seem normal, but it's gonna get incredibly, fantastically insane and crazy. Expect violence, blood, sex, and swearing in later chapters. Uh… I do not have a witty line to go out on.


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